


Bed Head

by AshesTheTerrible



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Blood, Gore, Guns, Kissing, M/M, Vault Hunters - Freeform, Vomiting, severed limbs, sexual touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesTheTerrible/pseuds/AshesTheTerrible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilhelm makes a bad joke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jpo2107](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpo2107/gifts).



> I am currently taking prompts on tumblr! Go check out the rules on my site, @AshesTheTrashy!

Bed head.

That was an innocent enough phrase, some kind of endearing term that one would use for wild morning hair. That sleep rustled look that many often started the day adorning. Cute, innocent, harmless.

Except it wasn’t anymore.

At least not for Timothy.

See Elpis had this lovely little way of ruining even the most adorable, lovely, and guiltless of things. It was just one of the ongoing charms that the god-forsaken clump of frozen rocks disguised as a planet held.

The day had started normal enough for the young doppelganger. He went through the routine like clockwork, get dressed in clothes he never would have _actually_ picked out for himself, brush his teeth, practice his ‘Jack’ catchphrases several times in the mirror, and then strap a hoard of deadly looking weapons to every part of his lean body. Sniper rifles, pistols, shotguns and the occasional rocket launcher, all fitted up to his form like an extra outfit. Most of them he didn’t really _know_ how to use, he just aimed and hoped for the best. As long as he didn’t blow himself, or some important piece of expensive Hyperion equipment up, he called that a pretty good day.

And the day had begun with promise enough of being a fairly decent one.

Of course it had gone south the moment he’d found himself hiding behind a pathetic little piece of moon rock while a full on firefight with a whole swarm of Scavs had exploded. And of course this had all happened within the first hour of the young man leaving his Hyperion issued room on Concordia.

God he hated the moon.

He hated Scavs.

He hated guns.

At that moment really he hated just about everything. The sky, the ground, and the bullets whizzing by his ear and pinging off nearby metal structures…yeah he hated it all.

Except he didn’t _actually_ hate _everything._

Timothy’s heterochromatic eyes wandered across the bloodbath of a battlefield, just in time to catch an eyeful of yellow and grey armor glistening in the lights from the Scav camp. Tim felt his little heart skip a beat in the depths of his chest. In that moment he really wasn’t sure if he was actually _breathing_ anymore.

Because there he was.

Like a massive mountain of silver hair, guns, and hatred, the big man was walking, yes _walking_ into the firefight. Walking at the same pace someone might casually use on a trip down the street to the grocery store. His boots hit the moon-dust one after the other, heavy, and unhurried as if he were simply waltzing right into Moxxi’s bar, or maybe Jack’s office, but certainly not a gunfight.

The massive man had a shotgun glued to his heavy hands, his palms a constant rhythm of shoot twice, dump the spent shells, reload, and shoot again. Over and over again he repeated the motion like a well choreographed dance…except Tim was damn sure Wilhelm did not dance, nor did he choreograph absolutely _anything._

The enforcer’s drones circled the space like buzzards looking for a fresh kill, the mechanical beasts echoing back to their keeper every once and a while to give report of the situation at hand. Wilhelm’s face was unchanging for the most part as he mowed down helpless Scavs like a well oiled machine, save for the slight grin that would creep over his face every once and a while when the kill was _extra_ satisfying. Honestly the enjoyment the big man got out of killing was more than just a little unnerving to the brunette young man.

But...he had little room to complain about the deep, dark, motives for killing buried within the enforcer…seeing as Wilhelm, and his bloodlust were currently the only things standing between Timothy and an untimely death by moon idiots. Timothy swallowed thickly, his gun held uselessly in his clammy palms. Suddenly the sound of boots kissed at Tim’s ears. The telltale thud of feet on dirt…and it was getting closer.

And closer.

And closer.

The rest happened far too fast for Tim’s little brain to fully wrap around. He knew the form coming for him was not Wilhelm. He knew it had to be a Scav. He had a gun in his hands, it was loaded and he knew how to pull a trigger. Tim shot upward from his cover, hand cocking the gun and firing before the Scav had even been able to raise his own weapon.

And Tim was left standing there with a smoking Hyperion pistol…and a dead Scav.

His wide eyes darted from the limp form of the man, then to his weapon, then back to the murder scene. His breathing came to him in short, shallow pants, hands still shaking on the gun until suddenly, a massive palm came to rest on Tim’s hand, willing the doppelganger to lower the still loaded pistol.

Tim jumped slightly and snapped his neck to the side, suddenly fearful he was going to have to commit a double homicide but the words that accompanied the touch quickly eased Tim’s worries.

“Easy killer.” Came Wilhelm’s rough voice, the big man coming up behind Timothy like a great shadow.

Tim let loose of the breath he’d been holding in one relieved whoosh of air.

A chuckle rumbled up from the enforcer’s chest, and Timothy’s wide eyes darted to the other man’s expression with a slight hint of concern.

“Would you look at that…” Wilhelm grunted as his big palm came to the nape of Tim’s neck, the tips of his fingers sliding up into the beginnings of Timothy’s brunette locks.

Tim felt himself stiffen slightly at the touch.

The protective, easy, touch that Wilhelm always gave him right after a fight. The kind of touch that Tim couldn’t really figure out at first, but after it was given time and time again…Timothy got the hint. Wilhelm was not good with words. In fact he often opted to just not use them at all. Timothy had spent a good while of his time on Elpis actually deciphering the brutish man’s language of grunts and heavy noises. A deep grunt meant no, a nod was yes, a chuckle could have been a whole number of things and so on and so forth.

Wilhelm’s digits slid into the collar of Tim’s jacket.

That was more than just a protective touch.

Tim swallowed dryly.

“You got one.” Wilhelm continued as he nodded toward the Scav on the ground, his body sprawled out in an unnatural position.

Tim sighed, Wilhelm’s hand still resting there, big fingers wandering beneath his Hyperion yellow sweater to draw circles over bare, suntanned flesh.

Tim swallowed again.

“And ya didn’t puke.” Wilhelm tacked the comment on casually, as if he were praising a child that had just learned to ride a bike without training wheels.

Timothy felt a small grin tug at the corner of his lip.

The big man was right. Any other time the doppelganger had by some miracle managed to maim, or at least graze an enemy with a bullet, his was instantly heaving his guts up. Tim was not a man that did well with blood. Tim was a man that also did worse with the presence of murder.

There was a thick rumble of sound from the depths of Wilhelm’s throat, the taller man leaning down to press his nose against Tim’s still thrumming pulse.

“Kinda hot.” Wilhelm said simply, his free hand plucking the weapon from Tim’s shivering fingers and slipping it back into the holster at Tim’s hip.

With that the gruff man’s digits took the opportunity to shove up the blood splattered folds of Tim’s sweatshirt, rough, calloused fingertips exploring over the thin padding just over his hipbone. Tim didn’t want to admit just how weak his legs were, and for a moment he really wasn’t sure if it was being caused by the fact that he just shot someone into next week…or if it was caused by the gruff palm making itself at home against his lower abdomen.

Tim guessed it was the latter.

Wilhelm’s fingers were large, matching the rest of the mammoth man, his spread of digits touching out over lean, toned muscle earned only by constantly running away from…well death. Running from moon monsters and maniacs alike made for a considerably good workout. Tim allowed Wilhelm’s large arm to hold up most of his weight, unsure fingers pressing backwards and finding the silver haired man’s meaty thigh. Tim’s hand fisted in the material of the other man’s combat pants, a breathy sigh coming loose from Tim’s tongue.

The sound only earned the young man a growl from the enforcer.

Timothy knew exactly what that meant. That tenor, the easy nature of the deep sound, that was all pure arousal.

Timothy shuddered and leaned back into the breadth of Wilhelm’s chest, the wall of a man at his back keeping him upright and steady. And then that mostly silent mouth was on the heat of Tim’s throat, kissing slow, and easy, like they had all the time in the world to be doing this…right in the open, with blood and gore all around their boots, in danger of attack at any given second. But when Wilhelm was this close to Timothy, all prayer of having functioning thought went right out the window. Instead of pushing Wilhelm away, like he should have, because honestly his timing was _horrible_ the young man tilted his neck to the side, offering the enforcer more skin to work with.

The big man’s digits had ventured farther, dipping just beneath the young man’s hem, brushing along the beginnings of soft, brunette hairs bringing up a breathless sound from the doppelganger.

And then, as soon as the touch had been offered, Wilhelm’s palms were leaving Tim be.

Timothy turned to the other man with disappointment and confusion in his eyes.

Wilhelm only chuckled in response.

“Later.” He said gruffly.

“Gotta job to do.” Wilhelm followed up with a grunt.

Timothy groaned under his breath.

Of course, the other man couldn’t be bothered to stall in the middle of a job. Because the longer he took on a job, the longer it took to get paid, and that meant he had to wait that much more for his next set of robotic upgrades.

Tim shot a glare at the back of the bigger man’s head as he shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust his half mast cock in his overly tight jeans.

The enforcer was already going about searching the bodies, kicking some with his boot, rolling them over to get a look at their faces…and each time he made a frustrated sound and moved onto the next.

“None of these are him.” Wilhelm near snarled as his good eye traveled across the wastes to Timothy.

Tim folded his arms across his thin chest and sighed.

They weren’t just murdering Scavs for shits and giggles…though that was one of the enforcer’s favorite pastimes…instead they were on a task to find a very _specific_ Scav. One that had stolen information that Jack apparently wanted back, very, very badly.

The vault hunters rarely asked questions and Wilhelm _certainly_ didn’t if there was money involved, they just did as they were told.

“Maybe in there?” Timothy growled nodding his head toward the building to their left.

Wilhelm grunted in agreement, clearly either ignoring, or not noticing Timothy’s best pouting face. Tim followed on the big man’s heels, still bristling at the fact that Wilhelm had so blatantly left him hanging, muttering to himself as the enforcer entered the building with his gun ready. A quick check around the corner and the small space proved empty, save for a few ragged beds all tucked in a neat little row.

Wilhelm grabbed the sheets of the first one and ripped them backward, exposing a dirty, but otherwise empty bed. The enforcer did the same to three other beds, pausing at the very last, Tim still tagging along.

The big man yanked the bedding back with a quick hand and both men paused at the gruesome scene splayed out before them.

The sheets were painted a vicious red, blood soaked down through the mattress as if someone had spilled a whole bottle of wine on the white linens. At the very top of the bed, was indeed the man they were looking for.

Well…what was left of him.

All that remained was his severed head, propped up on the pillow in a natural, almost artistic way.

After several seconds the enforcer broke out into a hearty fit of laughter.

“Bed head.” Wilhelm chuckled as he shoved Tim’s shoulder playfully.

“You get it kid?” Wilhelm snorted as he looked to Tim.

With that Timothy whirred around, one hand instinctively clutching his stomach as he doubled over and lost his lunch on the dirty tile below their feet.

Wilhelm cocked an eyebrow and sighed as he rubbed a comforting hand between Timothy’s shoulder blades while he wretched.   

“I didn’t think my joke was that bad.” Wilhelm chuckled as Timothy coughed and sputtered, small tears pricking at his eyes as his stomach heaved.

“Oh go jump off a cliff Wilhelm.” Timothy managed to croak out as he spit onto the floor.

Wilhelm sighed lowly.

“Well. You almost made it through one day without pukin’ kid.” The enforcer shrugged.


End file.
